The Suvian Curse
by Meg and Sev
Summary: Severus Snape and Maggie Walsh are cursed. What is their curse, and how can they overcome it?
1. Chapter 1: A Beautiful Awakening

The Suvian Curse   
  
by Meg  
  
Chapter 1: A Beautiful Awakening  
  
Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, and all things from Middle-Earth belong to Tolkien. I've just borrowed them for fun.  
  
***  
  
The sun fell in soft beams of grey on the bedspread, slowly licking upwards over his face. He sighed, opening a jet-black eye and screwing it shut again to protect its precious retina from the light. Then he stirred and stretched, looking at the large, ebony, ancient grandfather clock that ticked peacefully across the room. Seven o'clock, time to get up.  
  
Severus Snape slipped out of his bed and casually strolled to the bathroom. He entered the shower and let the hot water gush over his alabaster skin. Lemongrass-scented suds slipped over his muscular chest, his strong arms and his long legs. When he was done, he exited the shower cubicle and performed a Mouthwashing Charm, which guaranteed white teeth and sweet minty breath for the rest of the day.  
  
He looked at himself in the mirror. The morning light flooded the bathroom and made him look incredibly handsome. His black eyes were slightly grey in the morning, when they were still hazy from sleep, but soon they would find their perfect jet-black brilliance. His soft, silky hair shone with iridescent highlights under the sun, as he combed it carefully. It fell around his face and onto his shoulders, framing it perfectly, creating a stark contrast with his porcelain skin. He observed his nose. It was big, indeed - but it was in perfect proportion with the rest of his features, his well-defined cheekbones and his strong chin. It only served to make him look more masculine.  
  
Severus slipped on a pair of green silk boxers, wiggling his perfect buttocks against the sensual fabric. He then drew his robes around him. They were of thick black silk, with discrete silver embroideries on the collar and torso. He closed the Chinese-style buttons carefully over the fine black down on his chest, and looked at himself in the mirror. Perfect. He was ready to face the world.  
  
He stepped out of the bathroom and into his room. He looked around proudly at the heavy velvet curtains on his ancient four-poster bed. Each curtain was embroidered in silver with magical elvish runes which told of his genealogy. Few people knew that he was in fact a descendent of the famed Lord Elrond, from his son Elrohir. Of course, over the millennia, the elvish features had faded, but in Severus there was still the beautiful elvish complexion, their tall, finely muscled figure and their enthralling charisma.  
  
Severus sat on the emerald satin of his sheets to pull on his black dragon-hide boots. The House-Elves, who all adored him, would make his bed once he left the room, and he smiled softly as he thought of how the kind House Elves left a chocolate on his pillow every night. People would have thought, on seeing how strict Severus was when giving his lessons, that he was a cruel man. But as soon as he exited his classroom, he became amicable. Every staff member respected him for that.  
  
Just as he was about to leave his room, Severus Snape looked again at himself in the silver-gilt mirror which hung on his wall. Why hadn't he yet been able to find true love, with such beautiful features?  
  
He blinked. Something was wrong, very wrong. Once more, he looked at his beautiful face in the mirror, and even though he frowned, he still looked... pretty. And he'd just caught himself thinking of True Love.   
  
Frightened, Severus Snape sped towards Professor Dumbledore's office, his intricately woven robes billowing luxuriously around him.  
  
***  
  
To be continued 


	2. Chapter 2: Reborn Gorgeous

The Suvian Curse   
  
by Meg  
  
Chapter 2: Reborn Gorgeous  
  
Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, and all things from Middle-Earth belong to Tolkien. I've just borrowed them for fun.  
  
***  
  
Elven DNA was a strange thing. It had once been harvested by the Initiative, who had captured an elf in the woods surrounding Sunnydale. They hadn't been certain what it could be used for, but according to legends, it had the power to make one immortal. However, the Pentagon hadn't ever granted them the official permission to test it. Fortunately, Maggie Walsh wasn't one who played by the rules.  
  
Her body had lain for many a month in the lush satin cushioning of her coffin, slowly regenerating. When Adam had awoken her from the dead and made her a zombie, he'd believed that her brain functions were destroyed. He had been wrong. She'd taken advantage of a moment of confusion during the battle to inject herself with elven blood. She didn't quite know what effect it would have, but she knew that it beat being a rotting corpse.  
  
Maggie smiled as she slipped out of an off-white satin nightgown and into a steaming bath in which pink and yellow rose petals floated. It was her first great pleasure in the morning, and she savoured the feel of the burning water on her perfect, golden skin. She ran a sponge over her shapely legs, up her flat stomach, to the curve of her sweet breasts. Finally, she shimmied out of the water, letting drops run over her ideally placed curves. Her waist was fine and her legs were longer than the average for a woman of her size - a perfect 5'5". People often compared her to a fairy, small yet very dainty. Wrapping herself in her kimono, she stepped into her brightly filled studio and sat at her dressing table.  
  
She smiled at herself in the mirror as she attached pearl earrings to her ears. It was several years since she had celebrated her fortieth birthday, yet she hardly seemed older than thirty. Her face was smooth and soft like a peach's skin, and she had let her hair grow out. It fell in perfect honey-coloured curls on her shoulders. When the sun caught her locks, they glimmered in shades of gold and copper. Carefully, Maggie started to apply her makeup. She didn't really need any, as her eyelashes were naturally long and her lips always an enticing shade of lavender. However, a little brown eyeliner brought out the brilliant emerald of her eyes, and a touch of glittery lip gloss to make her lips shine sensually. She twisted her hair into a sophisticated bun, so that it didn't fall into her face while she worked.  
  
Once she was pleased with her makeup and hair, she turned to her wardrobe. As a Professor in London University, she had to dress relatively formally. After having slipped on a black thong and an assorted, cleavage-enhancing bra, she surveyed the contents of the closet. She chose a pinstriped grey jacket and the assorted skirt. As it was a warm day, so she decided against wearing anything under the jacket, and simply slipped into the clothes. The skirt's hem fell practically to her knee, but to allow her free movement, it had a slit up the side of her thigh. She stepped into a pair of high-heel black shoes, fastened the straps, and was ready for work.  
  
She collected her notes for today's classes. She still taught Psychology, but she had put her dark scientific experiments with demons behind her. Her move to England had allowed her to start a new life of teaching and research, and she thoroughly enjoyed it. Her students seemed to like her and make good progress, and her new teacher's assistant, a tall, handsome man in his mid-twenties, seemed to be flirting with her. She enjoyed the attentions, and even considered returning his interest. Life was good, since she had managed to resurrect herself.  
  
She checked herself in the mirror once more before leaving her flat. Something seemed off. She cocked her head to one side, unable to take her eyes off the attractive figure that looked back at her. A curl of honey hair had slipped out of the bun and played around her ears. She was beautiful, sophisticated and smart.  
  
What had happened to her? Something was deeply wrong, though she didn't know what it was. Perhaps she had become delusional overnight? Or... she remembered that there were Wizards living in England. Could this be a spell, some sort of curse?  
  
Grabbing her purse, she hurried out of her flat and into the streets of London, her thigh flashing through the slit in her skirt with every step she took.  
  
***  
  
To be continued... 


End file.
